


Five Times Alfred Wanted to Protect Thomas Wayne

by storiesfortravellers



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Gotham (TV)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Gen or Pre-OT3, Gen or Pre-Slash, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Pre-Canon, Pre-Series, Protectiveness, Random Bits of Nationalism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2014-12-23
Packaged: 2018-03-02 23:32:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2830043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesfortravellers/pseuds/storiesfortravellers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thomas Wayne is volunteering as a doctor in a war-torn nation, and Alfred is the unlucky British special forces operative assigned to keep him safe.</p><p>Pre-series fic about how Alfred came to be the Waynes' butler.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times Alfred Wanted to Protect Thomas Wayne

**Author's Note:**

  * For [devera](https://archiveofourown.org/users/devera/gifts).



> A Yuletide Treat for devera.

Alfred waited as Thomas treated the man, as he removed the bullet from the man’s thigh and stitched up the entry wound. It was a local who had been shot, a civilian by all appearances who was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and Thomas had run out into the line of fire to drag the injured man back to cover. 

Luckily, backup arrived soon enough and ran off the shooters. Thomas, of course, wouldn’t leave until the local was in an ambulance. 

As soon as he did, Alfred dragged him aside and pressed him up against the wall, an elbow on Thomas’ neck, not hard enough to hurt but hard enough to scare a rich boy from Gotham.

“Now you listen to me, you spoiled, overprivileged brat,” Alfred said, his face just an inch away from Thomas,’ “It is my burden to keep you breathing, and if you ever pull anything like that again, court martial be damned, I will beat you into the ground so hard there won’t be anything left to shoot.” He exhaled sharply, stared at Thomas with menace.

Thomas just smiled.

The little prick _smiled_.

And he said, “If you really felt it was wrong to help that man, you wouldn’t have waited until he was in the ambulance to say it.” He stared at Alfred, refusing to back down. (Terrorists and crime lords had flinched at Alfred’s gaze, but apparently Thomas Wayne was too stupid.)

Alfred leaned back, then put his hands on the wall, one on each side of Thomas, hedging him in. He smirked. “Fine. Now that I know that you’re prone to sudden outbursts of idiocy, I’ll be on the lookout for them. You may be quick, Dr. Wayne, but I can assure you I’m quicker.”

Wayne just grinned at him. “I do love a challenge.”

Alfred grunted, then stepped back and walked away angrily. He knew there was a reason he always tried to get out of baby-sitting missions.

\--

“We’ll camp here for the night, and we’ll start walking again at dawn. We’ll be in the city by noon.”

Thomas just nodded. Alfred wanted to ask if Thomas had ever camped a night in his life but decided against it.

Soon, they were in sleeping bags in the small tent, shivering in the cold night.

“We really can’t build a fire?” Thomas said, teeth chattering.

“Would attract attention.”

Thomas nodded and curled up in his bag.

Alfred looked over. “On two-man missions, we use body heat to make it through the night.”

Thomas looked at him, then nodded. “Okay.”

Alfred showed him how to connect the sleeping bags, then slid in after Thomas. 

“Your hands are freezing, mate,” Alfred grumbled as they brushed against his own.

“Sorry.”

They were silent for a long moment.

“What would you do if you weren’t doing this?” Thomas asked then.

“Sipping margaritas on a beach.”

“No, really. If you weren’t in the military. What would you have done?”

“Don’t know, really. Always knew I would join.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Was it all you hoped?”

“When I’m not dealing with a spoiled pain in the ass?”

Thomas smiled, unfazed. “Yeah. When you’re not having fun with me. Do you still like it?”

Alfred paused for a long time. “It’s what I know.” There was a time when Alfred would have said, without a thought, that there was no higher purpose than to watch over, to protect, but before this latest pain-in-the-ass mission, he hadn't felt like a protector in a very long time.

“Oh.” Thomas paused, then said, “What about when you retire? What will you do then?”

“I have some ideas.”

“Like what?”

“You’re a bit nosy, you know that?”

“I’ve been told. Often.” He looked expectantly at Alfred.

“Fine. If you must know, when I go back to England, I’ve got a friend who can get me into a school for a certain profession.”

“What profession?”

“I’m going to learn how to become a butler.”

“A butler?” Thomas said, crinkling his forehead. “I don’t think I can picture you as a butler.”

“A butler is a noble profession. Butlers are the overseers of the household. They are trusted guardians of tradition, and it’s not something a bloody American would understand.”

“Fair enough.”

“And what about you, Dr. Wayne? What would you be doing if you weren’t getting shot at far from home?”

“I don’t know. I always just wanted to help people. It’s the only that makes me feel like I’m doing something worthwhile, you know?”

“There aren’t people who need help back home?”

Thomas took a deep breath. “Gotham is… complicated.”

“How so?”

“It’s not…. It’s just the whole city’s hard to work with. You want to start a free clinic, and you spend three fourths of your budget on kickbacks to very unsavory people. You want to change local policy, you have to spend your afternoon playing golf with politicians that make you want to vomit. I’m not sure Gotham can really change, you know?”

“And so you go to one of the places in the world that are far more desperately hopeless than Gotham? Not buying it, sir.”

“You’ve never been disillusioned by corruption? By the feeling that who you came to help and who you’re actually helping are two completely different things?” He looked at Alfred, clearly knowing full well how Alfred felt about such things. 

“No distractions,” Alfred said gruffly, pinching Thomas lightly on the elbow. “Why else are you running from Gotham?”

Thomas sighed. Finally, he admitted, “In Gotham, I’m the Wayne family heir. Everyone knows me as that. I don’t want to trade on my name.”

“Well, it strikes me, sir, that if you’re really so keen on helping people, you’d use every tool available to do so. Including your name.”

Thomas was silent for a long moment, then exhaled. “Okay. That stung. I admit it.”

“I didn’t mean--”

“No. No, you’re right.” Thomas was staring upward now, jaw tight. 

“I still say we’d both be better off on a beach with margaritas,” Alfred said after a while.

Thomas looked back over at him and laughed. “Then we should do that sometime.” He leaned in closer to the heat of Alfred's body.

“I’ll write it in my schedule, mate.”

 

\--

“If I can get across the river, I can help those people,” Thomas said. He was asking Alfred for a favor, a big one, and his usual cockiness was gone. Replaced with something… desperate.

Alfred found the change disconcerting.

“I’m sorry, Dr. Wayne. It’s too much of a risk.”

“I’ve read your file, Alfred. You seem to be comfortable with risk. Some of your commanders even said 'disturbingly comfortable.'”

“My file’s confidential.”

“My family has connections.”

“I see. And is that why you believe you can do anything your little heart desires? Because you’re the little prince of Gotham?”

Thomas winced a little at that, and Alfred really shouldn’t have felt guilty. “I know it’s a lot to ask, Alfred. But the organization says they can’t get any other doctors there. And the militants are blocking the north road, so there’s no way they’re getting to the hospital. The ones with serious injuries could die if they don't get medical help. Alfred, I know you don’t want to live with that.”

“You’d be surprised what a man can live with, Thomas.”

Thomas raised an eyebrow. “You finally called me by my first name.”

Alfred sighed. “To be perfectly frank, sir, I’m thinking of far less flattering things to call you right now.”

Thomas smiled, beamed up at him. “Thank you, Alfred.”

“That wasn’t a yes.”

“I think it was.”

Hours later, Thomas woke up on a small cot, with Alfred sitting in a chair next to him. 

“Morning, sunshine,” Alfred said, rather sarcastically. 

“What happened?”

“You got knocked out after a blast to the building next to you. Had to carry you back. You shouldn’t have eaten those damn pastries for breakfast.”

“Are the--”

“Your patients survived the blast too. You were the only one on the near wall. And you’d already treated the major injuries before you got thrown, so I don’t want to hear any nonsense about going back. Rescue teams will be there soon enough, and you’re under orders to stay put.”

“I was hoping to take a nice brisk walk.”

“That’s not funny, sir.”

“I’ve been told that I’m very funny.”

“Flatterers, sir. I can assure you, no honest person would praise your humor.”

Thomas laughed, then winced at the headache prodded by the movement. Alfred reached over and laid a hand on Thomas’ shoulder, rubbed it softly.

“Just stay put a little longer, Doctor. You’ll be back to your idiotic exploits soon enough.”

“Yeah.”

They sat there for a while.

“Alfred?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Thank you. For saving my life. I mean, it’s not even the first time. But I woke up on and off. I remember you carrying me through the mud in the river. I… remember you cursing up a storm, worried that I was going to die. I know you carried me a long time, and I’m pretty sure you were getting shot at for a lot of it.”

“Just doing my job, sir.”

“Well, Alfred, you are very, very good at your job.”

“You’re being very gracious, sir. I assume it's a result of the concussion. Shall I call the nurse?”

“Fine,” Thomas said, “Be that way.”

“What way?”

“Stoic. Shrugging it all off. It’s very British.”

“I take that as the highest of compliments, sir.”

“Naturally.”

 

\--

Alfred cringed in the brightness of the light, then let his eyes droop, felt the light dissipate into sharp horizontal lines, then a soothing reddish dark.

A slap in his face, then. Hard.

“Alfred!” Thomas yelled, hovering over him. “Stay awake!”

“What’s – are you all right?” 

Thomas looked like he was about to break. “You were shot. Stay with me. You’re going to be okay.”

Alfred mumbled an assent, tried to focus. 

“Alfred! You stubborn, stupid bastard! You do not get to take a bullet for me and then die on me! You are going to live to be a curmudgeonly old bastard, do you hear me? Alfred! You are not allowed to leave me!”

“Yes, sir,” Alfred mumbled, then closed his eyes again.

“Alfred!” he heard in the distance.

A day later, Alfred woke.

“The bad news is, your injuries mean that you’re done with your military service. The good news is, you’ll be in reasonably good overall health after your physical therapy and after they find the right balance of medications.”

“I see.”

“I’m sorry this happened, Alfred.”

“All in the line of duty, mate. Don’t think anything of it.”

“Yeah. Okay.”

Alfred reached out and grabbed his hand. “I did my job honorably. Don’t give me your useless guilt, I’ve no need for it.”

Thomas smiled sadly and gripped his hand. “By the way, an anonymous donor has paid your butler school tuition. If that’s really where you want to go after your therapy.”

“That’s very kind of this anonymous donor. But tell him he can keep his money. All I want is a promise.”

“What’s that?”

“Go back to Gotham. I don’t trust anyone else to keep you safe here.”

“You’re one of a kind, huh?”

“If anyone else were assigned to guard you, I’m quite sure they would have shot you by now, Thomas.”

Thomas laughed. “Okay. Fine.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I … actually was planning to go home. I mean...you were shot because of me, Alfred.” Thomas' voice broke as he spoke. He was staring down at Alfred's hand.

“I was shot because some prick shot at us. But you should go back to your Gotham. Where it’s safe.”

“Never been to Gotham, huh?”

“No.”

Thomas smiled, let go of his hand. “You should come sometime.”

 

\--

“I hear you guarded Thomas,” Martha said, handing him a drink. “That couldn’t have been easy.”

“The region is difficult, yes. But it was a pleasure to serve Master Wayne.” He took a sip of the whiskey, let the smooth heat of it coat his tongue.

“A very diplomatic answer,” she said with a kind smile, “But I believe you know what I mean.”

He smiled a little. “He’s a very persistent man.”

“Stubborn,” she said, and they both laughed. “But an easy man to love,” she added.

Alfred cleared his throat. “Thank you again for taking me on,” Alfred said, changing the subject. “I’m proud to call myself the Wayne family butler."

“And we’re grateful to have you.”

“Thank you.”

She leaned in a little, said more quietly. “I know you saved Thomas’ life many times.”

“And he saved mine as well.”

“When you were shot, yes. You pushed him out of the way and took the bullet yourself.”

“A hazard of the profession.”

She nodded, then finished her drink. “I’m glad you’re here, Alfred. Thomas – he’s such a good person.”

“I know, ma’am.”

She continued, “He’s brave, Alfred. He thinks he’s going to change Gotham. And when you hear him talk about it, it’s so easy to believe he can do it. He just believes so strongly in doing the right thing, it’s impossible not to be inspired.”

“I’m happy to support his efforts however I can.” 

She leaned in again, whispered, almost conspiratorial. “You don’t know Gotham well, do you, Alfred?”

“I’ve heard much, of course. But I’ve only just arrived in town.”

“You’ll learn. You’ll see. Thomas will need you here. More than he did there, even.” She poured herself another drink, offered him one as well. He declined.

Alfred paused, then leaned in toward her, spoke softly. “Mrs. Wayne, you have my word, whatever enemies arise because of Mr. Wayne’s good will, I will protect him with as much force as is needed.”

She looked at him, then hugged him, suddenly, almost startlingly. “I believe you,” she whispered, voice cracking, and it was almost as if she herself were surprised to be saying it. 

It was strange, her slight frame leaning against him, and all he could think in that first second was that this was Thomas Wayne’s wife. But he hugged her back, lightly, and then he could feel her cling, could feel the fear in her.

He knew then that Martha Wayne lived every day the way Alfred had lived in that war zone: _terrified_ of the day when Thomas’ integrity would get him killed.

“I won’t let anything happen to either of you,” he promised her, patting her back. “I promise you, I’ll always be there.”


End file.
